#like is that a balk

[redsoxfenwaypark]

Don’t worry guys, I still don’t understand what a balk is

[iknowicanbutwhy]

Tfw you (currently obsessed with ISAT who never plays pokemon) play a soul-link nuzlocke with a friend (in for a world of torment) and you can't pay attention to a health bar for the life of you nor remember what types are weak to what.

Spoiler under the cut :)

Guy how did you manage to un-evolve yourself

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

pony whose version of tuff is warped to hell. cryin ain't NOT tuff. his brother cries all the time. whatever. he says I love you freely. he ain't embarrassed to have his hair mussed up or be kissed on the forehead. cookin n cleaning ain't just woman's work cause his brother sure does it. drinkin ain't tuff. shouldn't need ur courage from a can. a dichotomy. obsessed

[bogkeep]

it fascinates me how often a choice of first or - gasp - second person storytelling can create so much derision and discourse. having preferences is fine obviously, and as a writing choice it Does matter, because all writing choices matter. i don't really... notice?? anymore??? or like, i DO notice, but more in a "what information will the narrative give me access to" kind of way.

i know second person especially can be jarring if you're not used to it, because it's "he would not fucking say that" but for yourself. but it's also like... so many song lyrics have "you" and "i" and to me they're just. a story that exists separate from me. (to the degree lyrics exist to me at all as something other than Sounds that are part of a music piece, but that's the audio processing disorder/'did not grow up with english as a first language and never bothered to decode lyrics' of it all speaking)

i suspect a lot of derision towards first person narratives comes from a derision towards the genres in which it is a staple, rather than that it's somehow uniquely bad. there's really not much difference between a first person perspective and limited third person perspective??

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

The Waterboy (1998) directed by Frank Coraci

[leclercskiesahead]

Excerpts: [First stints] The opening stint saw graining and high degradation for all runners and lap times rose sharply from around Lap 10 onwards. On Lap 14 [Norris] was called to box for new hard tyres. He then emerged behind Ocon – and Ferrari saw a small opportunity to cover him, and so boxed Leclerc the next lap. Unfortunately for Leclerc, it didn’t work out for him and he was undercut by Norris. Leclerc’s complaints on the radio at stopping to emerge behind the McLaren were met with reassurance that the race was most likely a two-stop, and it was the correct point to box. Piastri then covered both one lap later. In [Sainz’s] opening stint, he was too far behind Norris to attempt an undercut and Ferrari were still considering the one-stop possibility. Therefore Sainz pushed to extend as he thought it was too early to stop. Later, he reported that the graining was improving and lap times may recover. This was important information for Ferrari. Sainz was then called to pit before being undercut by Hamilton so the lap time improvement was crucially not seen by the other teams. [Second stints] As graining emerged on the hard tyre for all three leaders, [they had to decide] when to stop for the final set of hards. Piastri was asked if he thought a one-stop might be possible, but said no. [On Lap 32,] Leclerc is given the ‘box to overtake’ call on Norris as Ferrari looked to attempt an undercut. But Norris then pitted, prompting Leclerc to stay out. He was then told they will extend the stint to build a tyre delta. In the second stint running in largely free air, Sainz pushed Ferrari discussion on the one-stop strategy possibility. The pit wall and Sainz discussed whether they should cover Hamilton’s second pit stop or remain on the one-stop option – with Sainz favouring the latter after reporting that his tyres were still good. At this point the information is given to Leclerc that Sainz is targeting a one-stop strategy. Leclerc agrees that it is the best opportunity to win and immediately begins work on the tyre saving required to pull it off. [McLaren third stints vs Ferrari staying out] [Having boxed with 15 laps remaining,] Piastri needed to average 1.5 seconds per lap quicker [than his pre-stop pace] to make the pit stop beneficial. His first lap after the pit stop was indeed 1.5 seconds faster than before. However, he had five back-markers to overtake as well as Sainz. The back-markers cost variable amounts of lap time and Sainz then cost Piastri around two seconds of race time – which is crucial when considering Piastri only finished 2.6 seconds behind Leclerc at the flag. So although Leclerc then took the plaudits and the glory on the Monza podium, he couldn’t have pulled off such a famous victory without the help of his Ferrari team mate.

[flea-palace]

ok this may get me booed offstage but. i think the whole "christine looks like madeleine" in susan kay is more than just a basic oedipal complex, i think it's representative of erik's compulsive need to fix things/cultivate beauty and, despite all his efforts and tricks and hypnotism and attempts at creating an alternate universe for his mother where she could be happy, he knew it was never real and so he never really "fixed" her. and then along comes christine, looking like madeline two point zero, and of COURSE his wretched pattern recognition ovsessive compulsive perfectionist brain said "aha! a second chance to Fix Her!" and i think that's why such a core aspect of kaystine is her brokenness (cracked vase comparison, etc) and erik's attempts to do what he couldn't succeed at the first time. but lo and behold he is not only NOT fixing her (and satisfying that unsatiated urge to make things right and proper and just so), but he is actively making her worse, fueling the pattern of how he destroys anything that makes the mistake of getting too close to him. anyway that's my take feel free to publicly execute me for dredging up the old motherwound discourse in this fuckass novel

[z-eusie]

seriously just witnessed a post in which someone critiques the way ancient myths were written (as if that's at all an accurate way to describe this) and tries to offer alternatives for how an ancient people and culture with diverse interpretations of these stories and uses for these stories, should have written it instead

because incest makes them uncomfortable.

[volvolts]

mfw jacob opens his mouth

[the-maddened-hatter]

OOC this, OOC that, have you ever considered "To be loved is to be changed"???

[ven-of-oath]

I love trans headcannons as much as the next person but there are times where it circles a little to close to being homophobic

[shallowseeker]

Zachariah torturing Dean:

5x03

///

Zachariah torturing Jack:

13x14

(Script 13x14 via @spnscripthunt-inactive)

[rustedleopard]

On the one hand, I get why Dalv doesn't express the vampiric desire to drink blood because well... Monsters don't have blood. He would've starved to death a long time ago. But on the other hand, I kinda wish they at least gave him some vampiric traits. Vampires are pretty ubiquitous across all cultures in some form or another, there's plenty of traits to choose from.

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[morp]

we should all start making alignment charts of our ocs, but about their stances on cannibalism, and if they HAVE cannibalised

[non-state-actor]

Ya know, coming across posts like this is really an experience of "you're so close to the answer yet so far away."

Like, how detached from reality are you that you can actually wonder this? It's like the second someone who's in the working class actually breaks the mold and begins to earn probably still not even half of what their labor earns for their employer, all of sudden these sorts of bad unintentional-actors decide it's time for them to voted off the island.

It's even worse when they (appropriately) get dragged in the notes and this is their reply:

"Hmm actually I was just speculating this whole time haha devils advocate ecks dee 🤓🤓"

These are the same people who will be like "the working class needs more affordable housing!" and think the solution is more rent-serfdom to landlords but they just aren't charging as much.